After the blooming of the Mallorn tree it seemed that every flower, plant and tree in meadow, garden, forest or field in the Shire was competing with one another to bloom the fastest, to grow the tallest, be most fragrant, the most colorful, and most important to the Hobbits, the most delicious-tasting.

There was much spontaneous feasting and since the hops were of the best quality ever in the history of ale-making, home-brew flowed freely and liberally in every Smial.

Merry, if rather wobbly, Hobbits were everywhere celebratory at the drop of a hat.

It was quite difficult to escape a party on any given day. But Frodo did try. Will Witfoot was gradually re-assuming his post as Mayor and Frodo had more time to himself. So he could sneak off to his favorite spot beneath his reading tree if he was very careful to cross through only back gardens and avoid well-traveled paths.

Parties were all well and good but a good book an peace and quiet were still the things Frodo liked best. Especially since his return from....everything. He just didn’t feel up to all this frivolity. He wanted to rest. He was tired and pained more than he cared to tell anyone by his wounds of knife and sting and what could only be described as the poisonous influence left on his heart and mind by the Ring.

He was not the same Frodo Baggins who had left the Shire to destroy the Ring. He would never be that person again. He often wondered if what Saruman had foretold about him was true. That he would have neither health nor a long life. Perhaps. But Saruman’s voice was the last weapon that the evil wizard had been left with and they all knew his words were not to be trusted.

Still Gandalf and Elrond had also seemed concerned about him and the way his wounds had never really healed. They had hinted about the possibility of his leaving with them to travel into the West.

He sighed.

“Not yet.”

He still loved this place. The Shire and all its dear little secret places. So green and fragrant and full of life and a peace that was not to be felt anywhere else in Middle-earth. Not the peace that the elves knew but good plain Hobbit serenity that came from living simple lives close to the earth and to one another. Hobbits certainly could get into disagreements but they were rarely long-lasting and could usually be resolved over a few pints of ale. Hobbits loved each other and loved life. And it was a very good life to live.

Frodo wanted very much to live it. But could he?

Time would tell, he thought.

He leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. It was a lovely warm day and in the shade of his tree he let his book slide into the grass and he dozed comfortably off to sleep.

“Ahem.”

A voice awoke him.

The shadow of Poppy Whitfoot fell across his feet as she stood in the late afternoon sun with her arms crossed and she looked down at him significantly.

“Have I forgotten something?” he asked her. He feared he had over-looked some sort of mayoral duty but he had been sure that Will had everything in order that morning.

“Nothing terribly important. The Bracegirdles were in from Staddle with some petty complaints. But Father dealt with them.”

“Good. I’m glad I missed them.” Frodo closed his eyes again but Poppy remained where she was.

“Is there something else?” He asked peeking at her out of one eye.

“I just wondered where you’d wandered off to.”

“Really? And how did you know I’d be here. This is my secret reading tree.”

“YOUR secret reading tree? Well, I thought it was MY secret reading tree.”

“Well since we are among the few around here who like to read perhaps it can be OUR secret reading tree. If that’s all right with you?”

“I suppose it will have to be.” Poppy’s eyes were twinkling as they bantered with each other. They had gotten to be good friends during Frodo’s months as acting Mayor and she was feeling a little sad that he wouldn’t be in that position for much longer.

“You haven’t brought a book with you, Poppy.” Frodo pointed out.

“And you weren’t reading.”

“I HAD been reading.”

“Oh, I see. With your eyes closed?”

“Before they were closed.”

“Have you had lunch? It’s nearly tea time, you know.”

“You haven’t brought me anything to eat have you?” He said in mock fear.

“No, don’t worry. I will not make you eat any of my atrociously cooked food. I won’t even eat it.”

“You are a rarity, Poppy. A hobbit who cannot cook to save her life.”

“I’ve heard the same thing about you.” Poppy said sitting herself down companionably next to him beneath the tree.

“THAT is not true at all. Bilbo was a wonderful cook and I learned a lot from him.”

“Is that why Sam and Rosie do all the cooking at Bag End?”

“NO! They enjoy cooking. I hate to deprive them of doing anything they like so well. And I DO cook from time to time. AND it’s edible, as well.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.”

“It is perfectly edible. Poppy you are bating me.”

Poppy smiled at him archly.

She scooped up his book.

“What are you reading? Oh, it’s in Elvish. What does it say?”

“It’s the story of the lands in the West. Over the sea.”

“Is there any reason why you are particularly interested in such an obscure subject?”

“No. Well. Not really. Refreshing my memory about it, that’s all.” But his tone of voice was suddenly guarded and sad.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Oh?”

“You have a lot of secrets locked inside that head of yours, Frodo Baggins.”

“Do I?”

“I think you do, yes.”

“Perhaps. Am I not allowed a few secrets to keep to myself?”

“Certainly. But sometimes the things we keep locked inside might be better let out and shared.”

“That would depend on who they are to be shared with. I would certainly never share a secret with the Sackville-Bagginses or the Bracegirdles.”

“Oh, no. Of course not! Who would? But surely you can share a few of those secrets with a friend.”

“Like you?”

“I do hope you think of me as a friend, Frodo.”

“Indeed I do. One of my very best friends.”

Poppy smiled and.. yes! The indomitable Poppy Whitfoot was blushing.

Frodo smiled back at her feeling very pleased with himself. Obviously the old Baggins charm had not been left behind him in Mordor.

With a quirk of his eyebrow Frodo got to his feet.

“What say we have Sam and Rosie pack us up a picnic dinner and we’ll go down to the willow grove and share it together. It’s the perfect spot for a long talk.”

He offered his arm to her and she looped her own through it.

“The willow grove, hmnn? I’ve heard stories about you and the willow grove.”

“From my younger years. And greatly exaggerated.”

“Has your adventure changed you so much?”

“I suppose we’ll find out.”

“I thought you said we were going to have a long talk?”

“Whatever else did you think I meant?”

Poppy swatted Frodo’s dark curls. And Frodo laughed and gave her a more than friendly hug.

TBC.